


Looking for Courage

by icterine



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anxiety, Depression, Drunkenness, Falling In Love, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Memory Loss, Mutual Pining, Pining, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-14 22:18:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9205604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icterine/pseuds/icterine
Summary: Victor's soul rejoices with their meeting. A fleeting attempt to steady a drunken stranger sets his heart afire. It's all he's ever dared to wish for.(Yuuri meets his soulmate and forgets.)





	1. Day #1: Victor

**Author's Note:**

> There can never be too many Soulmate AUs... Am I right?
> 
> Regarding the AU setting:  
> \- Yuuri and Phichit are best buds under the same roof and course mates working on their Bachelor's.  
> \- Victor is in Detroit to do his Master's (and get a change of scenery).  
> \- Christophe is doing an exchange year with his... whatever. Because why skip an opportunity to rave in America with his good buddy Victor?  
> \- Everyone still figure skates - although the fic only focuses on Yuuri and Victor's skating.
> 
> Regarding Soulmates:  
> \- Souls are immortal, carrying on their essence and influencing their host's nature.  
> \- Some souls have bonded throughout their existence with another so deeply they rejoice in reunion and are drawn together by the souls' wills, often leading into deep romantic connections.  
> \- When one touches their soulmate, their souls recognize each other and form a bond as an attempt to hold onto each other. The hosts can either nurture the bond with physical and emotional intimacy to solidify it for life - or they can forcefully reject it, keeping distance until the bond fades away and the souls let go of each other.  
> \- Rejecting a soul bond causes the hosts to experience bouts of anxiety, depression and physical pain of varying degrees. Quick separation only results in mild effects, but if one nurtures the bond before rejecting it the reaction can be violent.  
> \- Solidifying or rejecting a soul bond occurs within days of meeting each other, starting out with intense effects and slowly weaning off.
> 
> Yikes, I haven't written a multichapter in... years. Also, this was supposed to be short. Well, it's starting to look pretty long - I've got bits and pieces of all four chapters written and it's currently over 12,000 words. Guess I can't do short.
> 
> So strap in. It's going to be a ride.

The sound that rouses him isn’t his phone alarm but a high-pitched whimpering. He isn’t quite sure why he still bothers to even set an alarm with Makkachin around, waking him up usually half an hour before he really wants to without fail.

He reaches out for his dog’s fluffy head and pets it blindly, body and mind exhausted.

“Morning, Makkachin,” he drawls and the dog yips before digging her snout under the covers and tickling the naked skin of his navel with a cold nose. Victor startles and sits up, long hair tangled and sticking up oddly. He tries to run his fingers through it to make at least the top a bit more easily manageable while Makkachin starts wagging her tail and bouncing in a circle, excited to have roused her owner.

He yawns and rubs his eyes, fumbling for his phone. It’s early. If he really does wake up now, he’s going to have a long day.

“Why do you do this to me, Makkachin?” he whines and flops down on the bed. His reluctance agitates the dog that launches herself on the bed and walks all over him, sniffing at him while he tries to hide under the covers with a half-hearted attempt.

The loud barking is going to wake up his neighbours.

“Are you hungry, girl?” Victor finally relents and the dog freezes, cocking her head excitedly. “Do you want breakfast? Is that it?”

Makkachin launches herself off the bed and out of the door. She returns to the doorway just to make sure that Victor really is getting up.

Giving up, he does. He picks up his morning robe from the floor and dresses himself before making his way to the kitchen.

Knowing students, surely he won’t be the only one attending tonight’s university bash delirious from sleep-deprivation. It’s alright. He’s got skating practice in a few hours anyway. Trust Makkachin to make him time to just wind down too. He could probably continue reading the novel he’s had sitting by his bedside unopened for a few weeks now.

“I love you,” he tells the dog affectionately when he feeds her and runs his fingers through her curly fur. “What would I do without you?”

Makkachin doesn’t answer, too caught up devouring her food. Victor appreciates the sentiment anyway.

 

* * *

 

 

A faint echo of music makes Victor pause.

He walks up to the rink’s door and checks the place through the glass window at the door. The rink is busy – maybe the previous person who’d booked the rink was running late?

People generally didn’t play music during cooldowns though. They played it to practice their programs, and the figure on ice was executing a quad toe loop.

_Definitely_ not a cooldown then.

Victor pulls out his phone irately but there are no messages from Yakov about any cancellations of their practice times. He checks his texts too and yeah, he’s absolutely supposed to have his practice session in five minutes so why is the –

_Ooh._ Wow, he’s really dumb isn’t he?

Victor huffs and hits his head against the corridor wall. It’s coming up to seven o’clock, not eight. He’s early. The person using the rink must be the Japanese figure skater he keeps running into in the locker rooms. They’ve never spoken to each other – most of the time he doubts the other skater even notices him among the different rows. He tends to seem really exhausted after his sessions and timid and plain in general.

He’s kind of adorable in a sheepish, completely unintentional way. Also, once the unflattering shirts he wears come off, he’s a surprising stunner that actually really got Victor to ogle for a bit the one time he saw him half-naked.

It’s the only time Victor had actually tried to strike up a conversation with him. It hadn’t exactly gone smoothly – the boy had looked like a deer caught in headlights, spluttered a short reply that completely shut down the conversation and rushed out of the room with his hackles raised high.

Victor wonders if he’s gotten eligible for the Grand Prix. Or maybe he’s just training for his own Nationals. Yakov’s never mentioned him, so Victor doesn’t really know. It probably means he’s not supposedly any threat to him.

_Supposedly_.

The thing is, Victor really has a knack for crafting programs. He understands the elements, has top-notch technical skill now that he’s got three quads under his belt and on top of it he understands music and performing in a way that resonates emotion. He’s choreographed his own programmes for a couple of years now and it’s been fruitful.

The music the Japanese skater is using is threateningly captivating. Orchestral – Victor really likes the type. It’s ambitious and demanding, the kind that can usurp a weak performer or elevate a top one. There’s a variety of flowing emotional tones, fluttery innocence and desperately determined battle riffs. Narrative.

Nosy, Victor quietly opens the door and steps into the rink. The coach standing by the barrier has his back to him and doesn’t seem to hear the sound of the door over the booming music, so Victor manages to safely slink into the shadows beside the rising seats.

He’s just going to start warming up. It’ll leave him more time on the ice once Yakov gets here and their session actually starts. Until then he’s going to seize up the competition.

He gently drops his skate bag on the floor and peeks to the rink. The skater looks different without his glasses, somehow more vulnerable. His aura on the ice is different too, smoother and more determined like a bird taking flight. He’s in the middle of a heated step-sequence, like a battle on the ice. Victor thinks there might be martial arts elements mixed in, but he’s not exactly an expert on that.

The flying sit spin is dizzying. Victor’s finger finds its way thoughtfully to his lip and he smiles, a fluttery feeling settling in his chest. The skater is actually really good. There’s grace in the way he moves, tired yet filled to the brim with desperate hope. He’s got the performance elements down for sure. The coach is yelling encouragements and criticism but Victor can’t hear, too taken in by the skate.

It’s long, isn’t it? Free skate then. The skater is beautifully flushed as he keeps pushing himself, speeding across the rink with rigour, ready for a jump and then –

He flubs the triple salchow. The rotations had been just a bit short and he hadn’t managed to catch himself securely with his landing foot, sending him flipping and rolling across the ice as he tries to claw for stability and get back up to continue.

It’s hard to get up when you’re rolling though.

Victor flinches and starts moving but stops when the music stops and the coach steps on the ice. The skater’s managed to stop and is already sitting up, wincing. Victor’s heart hammers.

It had been beautiful while it lasted.

“Are you alright?” the coach asks the skater and offers him a hand to help him up. “Can you stand?”

The skater must answer, but Victor can’t hear it. He slinks further into the shadows, suddenly remembering that yeah, he’s probably really not supposed to be here. He stands in the corner with his back pressed against the stands.

Whilst the duo busies themselves on the ice doing a quick check for any injuries, Victor decides that it’s better to escape and do his warm up stretches in the locker room after all. If he gets caught and this other coach tries to tear Yakov a new one for intrigue and sabotage accusations, there will just be unnecessary drama and hardship when Victor would rather just have a positive relationship with the skaters around him.

Besides, the skater seems timid and Victor would hate to embarrass him or hurt his feelings. Doing anything to disrupt the confidence he seems to get on ice would surely be a travesty.

The skating really had been beautiful.

Inspired, Victor stretches in the deserted locker room, ready to take on the ice and hope that he can look just as alluring whilst skating as the Japanese skater had.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s hard, not really fitting in with the crowd around you. Victor had been so excited to do his master’s in America, get a taste of the easy-going rowdiness he’s seen on TV screens. There was always a sense of community, the clichéd narratives of personal growth and self-discovery. He’d thought he’d needed that to plant his feet back on the ground and learn to mingle with people his age.

Now that he’s here, he feels like a lost cause. All the professionalism, media-savviness and fancy galas have left their mark on him, maturing him before his time. He’s not even all that young anymore and his youth is something he’s never going to get back. He looks around himself numbly, holding onto a cheap red solo cup filled with cheap vodka and feeling helplessly alone whilst surrounded by so many rowdy youths. Trying to act like he gets these people and fits in feels like such a chore he’s sure it comes across fake, deterring people who already despise or worship him for his fame in his art.

Everyone’s looking at him and seizing him up.

He can’t do this.

He puts his solo cup down on the table timidly. Instead, he picks up the fanciest bottle he sees on the table and tries to read the label, squinting his eyes in the dim light and trying to will the letters to keep still long enough for him to read them.

Sparkling wine. It’s no champagne, but at least it isn’t cheap vodka.

He could use a little liquid courage if he wants to stay.

There seems to be a commotion on the dancefloor with people cheering, clapping and hollering. Victor stretches his neck, trying to catch a glimpse half-heartedly. He stops looking when he sees a glimpse of his friend Christophe, stripped down to his boxers and body shining with sweat. Trust him to fire up the crowd.

He pours the wine in a new solo cup like a savage and sips on it, trying to bring himself down from the bizarre spike in anxiety. The drink isn’t top shelf or anything but it’ll do. He’s just about to put the bottle away when someone stumbles over from the dancefloor and crashes straight into the table, knocking bottles off down with a loud clatter. The bottles roll around and a couple of people milling around start picking them up and setting them back on the table.

“Sorry, sorry!” the young man drawls drunkenly at the people around him who eye him warily. There’s a ghastly light blue tie wrapped around the figure’s head. Who even wears a tie to a party like this, not to mention such an unstylish one?

Victor’s eyes widen when he realises it’s the skater from the rink. He’s lost his glasses somewhere and his cheeks are flushed. His forehead glistens with a thin sheen of sweat.

Victor has never seen him from this close. He’s devilishly _adorable_.

“Is that champagne?” the skater carries on, beaming and trying to grab onto the bottle Victor just managed to put down. He blinks and opens his mouth to answer but the skater is already stumbling closer, reaching his hand for the wine and tripping over an empty beer bottle that’s still left on the floor.

Victor moves automatically, so tuned into the skater his instincts kick in with surprising speed considering his level of inebriation. He grabs the man by his forearm as an attempt to steady him when the world suddenly _explodes_.

Everything is too bright, the colours too stark. The tacky disco lights make his head spin and Victor can _smell_ this guy, the tangy sweatiness and alcohol, _feel_ the clammy, searing hot skin against his palm and fingers and _hear_ the choked pant, shuffle of clothes, a faint surprised yelp…

The skater crashes into him and spurs on exhilarating agony, rendering Victor unable to breathe. He holds on tight, the world slowing around them.

Realisation starts dawning on him. He’s shaking from it, this _emotion_ that gets set alight, fond and adoring, desperate and _joyous_. Absolute euphoria, like a masterful symphony. He gasps and pulls back just a bit to search the other skater’s eyes with a frightening need, to confirm it because _he needs to know_ , could this really be…?

The skater gazes up at him, frozen whilst gripping the back of Victor’s shirt. Then he draws in a shaky breath, lips trembling and a wondrous look takes over his glossy eyes. He’s blushing furiously and it’s all Victor needs to know what this is.

Maybe a stupid college party really can turn his life around.

He gasps and hugs the man tightly. _Soulmate._ He’s seen him around so many times but he never knew, couldn’t even begin to imagine that he almost missed out on this. Would they ever have touched each other if it wasn’t for this tacky, drunken party? Would Victor ever have approached him? He isn’t sure and it terrifies him.

Then again, none of that matters anymore. They did touch.

Victor is never going to let go.

He buries his face in the Japanese man’s shoulder and chokes back an overwhelmed sob. Little by little, the world comes back again. The colours meld into their usual tones, the music creeps back into his consciousness but the feeling in his chest…

It mellows down, yes. But it doesn’t go away.

“Hi,” he greets his soulmate excitedly, pulling back but gently holding onto his forearms. His soulmate’s eyes never leave his, glistening and ecstatic. “I’m Victor. Nikiforov.”

The man in his arms laughs like he can’t believe this is happening. Victor thinks he can relate. “I know,” he replies hastily. “Victor.”

“Yes,” Victor preens, feeling very proud of himself. They’re both skaters – his soulmate must know him then. He’d dominated the Junior competitions before moving up and he’s revered in the figure skating circles as a natural genius on ice, already snatching up medals under the noses of much more experienced senior skaters. It’s a matter of time before he’ll dominate the seniors as well, Yakov proudly eggs him on. The thought’s been thrilling before, but now that his soulmate acknowledges his accomplishments, he’s never wanted to impress anyone more.

“Dance with me,” his soulmate murmurs, hands settling on Victor’s hips and body moving to close the distance again. Victor blinks, surprised. When he doesn’t immediately answer, the Japanese man removes one of his hands from his arm and grips his hand instead, starting to pull him towards the throng of bodies.  “Dance with me, Victor!”

Victor follows him. He’s never had fun like this before. People still stare at him but their adoration is futile – Victor’s entire life has been leading him to this magical moment and there’s never going to be anyone else that he has eyes for anymore.

He couldn’t be happier.

Suddenly the clubbing music is fun. It’s flirty and bouncy and his soulmate can clearly hold his ground on the dancefloor just like he does on ice. Victor actually struggles to keep up, more used to unstylish dances among youth like waltz and flamenco but his soulmate not only accommodates him but also urges him to let loose a little, flick his hair around to the beat of the music and sway his hips, beckoning.

His soulmate dips him and when he gets guided back up again, Victor cradles his head in his hands and kisses him. When he opens his eyes and pulls back, his soulmate’s eyes are half-lidded and he looks thoroughly debauched. Victor croons.

“You never told me your name.”

“ _Yuuri_ ,” his soulmate gasps and cover his mouth embarrassedly. The name sounds like it tastes delicious on the tongue and Victor shudders happily.

“I want to kiss you,” Yuuri tells him quietly, eyes sinfully glued to Victor’s lips. Victor wills himself not to stumble when he wraps an arm around Yuuri’s midsection and starts walking around him, spinning them slowly, desperate to be just as captivating. He’s drowning in his own saliva, aching to taste more.

It’s such a simple dance of seduction but everything between them is electric. The push-and-pull, the flirtation, it’s all perfectly seamless.

Victor realises he’s never been successfully seduced before.

“Then kiss me,” he urges Yuuri breathlessly, unable to tear his gaze away. Yuuri gulps and changes their direction, suddenly leading Victor.

“Come somewhere private with me.”

_Private._ Victor beams, drowning in his enthusiasm. “Yes,” he insists, nervous but ecstatic. “You can take me home.”

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri’s kisses are sloppy and involve way more tongue than Victor is used to. It’s arousing, alluring and intoxicating. His knees are wobbly when he follows Yuuri to his bed, hardly paying any attention to the flat around him.

He’s _aching_ for this man, desperate to ravage him and drown in bliss. If Yuuri keeps kissing him like this, he’s going to come embarrassingly fast. He’s already rock hard and keening.

Yuuri lowers him down on the bed and crowds him. Victor wonders if he’s dreamed of this too, fantasized about meeting his soulmate and accepting him in full and earnest, handing himself over body and soul. It’s only fitting that he has, being Victor’s other half. Maybe they’ve always been yearning for each other.

Some souls are more tightly entwined than others. It’s always been strange to Victor how easily some people dismiss their bonds and apply hard logic and painful effort to minimize the effect. Why someone would even want to outright reject the person their souls were destined to ache for.

All Victor has ever wanted is the tightest bond in history. He’s not good at being close and intimate with people, not really, but he’s going to give his soulmate all he has. Their days of loneliness are over. Getting intimate this soon after their souls recognizing each other is going to nurture their bond to exceptional standards.

The first days are the most crucial in either strengthening or dismantling the bond, the effect of their actions slowly waning down. Victor wants to spend the next few days wrapped up in the arms of his soulmate, touching, talking, learning and connecting. Luckily for him, Yuuri seems to want the same.

It’s only fitting that they’re going to make love the first night they meet.

Victor’s heart jolts in his chest when Yuuri’s palm lightly brushes over his crotch. Desire flutters through him, making his entire body flush as he breaks the kiss and nervously searches for Yuuri’s gaze.

“Can I?” Yuuri asks quietly, the wandering hand settling on Victor’s hip, thumb brushing his oblique in a slow, soothing rhythm.

Everything about Victor’s soulmate is perfect – the contradictions, the surprises, the sincerity of it all. The thought of finally meeting his soulmate has terrified him for years after the constant little nabs and comments people around him have showered him with. Since his skating career really started taking off, all he’s gotten to hear has been about how perfect his soulmate has to be, how talented and proper, gorgeous and graceful, driven and perfect beyond belief just to be worthy of him. It’s a lot to live up to and the priming has pretty much predestined Victor’s soulmate to fail in being seeing as worthy, because the person everyone describes is too crafted from fantasy to ever be real. To be fair, for years Victor himself hasn’t even managed to fathom what he could possibly want from his soulmate.

Now, when he looks at the boy lying in front of him, he thinks he finally knows the answer. _This_ is what he wants. Perfect imperfection, predator and prey all wrapped in one small young man.

Just the way Yuuri touches him makes Victor feel weak and pliant. He feels the flood of hormones rushing in his veins and raises his hands to cup Yuuri’s face.

“Yes.”

It’s not the first time Victor has been touched, and not the most skilled either really, but none of it matters because Victor has never felt this way before and for some reason that seems to make all the difference. He feels vulnerable as Yuuri’s fingers slip beneath the band of his briefs and wrap around his aching erection, but kissing Yuuri and seeing the man’s eyes flutter shut helps.

It’s getting really warm under the covers but he lets them stay on.

The angle Yuuri’s hand is working with is awful and even though he slips most of Victor’s cock out of his briefs, the fabric is frustratingly on the way. Victor pulls away for a moment to slip his briefs and trousers to his ankles before flopping back down.

His hair gets _everywhere_. Yuuri laughs breathlessly and tries to brush it off his face. Victor’s heart jumps in embarrassment and he runs his fingers through his scalp, brushing the hair back and out of the way. He’d feel worse about it, but the look in Yuuri’s eyes is overwhelmingly fond and there’s no way Victor could ever regret making Yuuri look at him that way.

“It’s really pretty,” Yuuri tells him with a lilting voice. “Your hair.”

“Maybe I should’ve worn a ponytail tonight,” Victor answers and snuggles up closer to Yuuri, entwining their legs and brushing Yuuri’s temple gently. Yuuri hums thoughtfully, not exactly agreeable but thoughtful nonetheless. Victor takes Yuuri’s hand and places it on his head.

“You can touch it.”

Yuuri’s eyes seem to sparkle in the dimness of the room as he cards his fingers through Victor’s silvery locks. Victor’s entire body is still buzzing with arousal but the gentle pampering is nice too.

He doesn’t really remember people soothing him before. He probably has been, as a kid, but his memory doesn’t quite go that far.

It doesn’t really matter, though. His soulmate is here now.

He starts kissing Yuuri languidly all over his adorable, wondrous face and lets his hand massage circles into his back, trying to gently pull at him to move closer, maybe even on top of him. He knows what he wants. Now it’s only a matter of fumbling through the awkwardness of bonding so deeply with someone who’s virtually a stranger. Everything else can wait.

“Yuuri,” he sighs, pleading.

It’s perfect. The way Yuuri backs him against the wall and half-looms over him, one clothed leg between his naked ones. The hand around his length is startlingly intoxicating. The tugs start off wondrous, hesitant and a bit too harsh at times but ease into a rhythm that keeps making his breath hitch and hips jerk. Yuuri keeps kissing him through it, assaulting his senses and Victor ends up coming embarrassingly hard and fast, crying into Yuuri’s cheek, his body flushed and sweaty under the covers.

The hand trembles when it leaves Victor’s soiled cock. Yuuri flops down beside him, boneless. Victor gulps, coming down from the high whilst staring at the beautiful dark mop of hair.

Yuuri’s eyes are hazy and sleepy but his breaths are hot against Victor’s flushed skin. “You need any help?” Victor offers, a languid smile spreading on his lips. Yuuri groans something and buries his face in his pillow. “What was that?”

“It’s okay,” Yuuri mumbles.

Victor runs a finger temptingly over Yuuri’s jawline, coaxing him to turn his head and look at him. “I don’t mind.”

Yuuri’s ears are impossibly dark. Victor hums happily and kisses the one facing him, feeling Yuuri’s entire body shudder violently. “I’d like to help,” he whispers into the ear with a sure voice and nibs at the earlobe playfully. “You were so amazing, Yuuri. Let me help you too.”

Yuuri flinches and curls up into himself protectively. Victor blinks in confusion when the new position ends up pressing Yuuri’s crotch more against his hip and it’s…?

“Oh,” he mumbles, shocked. “Did you already…?”

Yuuri whines against the pillow.

Victor really shouldn’t laugh. He really, _really_ shouldn’t laugh.

A tiny snort escapes his lips before he can slam his palm against his mouth to stifle the sound. Yuuri flinches.

“That’s adorable,” Victor gasps, amazed. He cuddles into Yuuri and coaxes his body to turn more against him again so that he can bury his face against Yuuri’s chest. “Were you a virgin? Or do you, like, always…?”

“N-no comment.”

It’s so, _so adorable._

“Okay,” Victor preens and smiles against Yuuri’s chest. He wraps an arm around Yuuri’s body, hoping to communicate to him that it really is okay, all of it, that this was _perfect_ and he couldn’t be happier. Victor can wait. They can learn to do this together. They’ve got the rest of their lives, don’t they?

He’s really tired, though. After the rush of sex, his limbs feel sluggish and Yuuri is a warm and comforting presence in the bed. “We should clean up,” he mumbles, just because he feels like it has to be said. He’s too tired to get off the bed and he doesn’t really want Yuuri to pull away from him either.

In the end, neither one of them moves away. Yuuri’s heartrate mellows down and when he drifts off to sleep, he absent-mindedly cradles Victor against his chest, fingers entangled in his hair.


	2. Day #2: Yuuri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri wakes up under the same covers as his long-time idol and crush Victor Nikiforov. It's only the first in a series of bad decisions from the night before that he has to deal with.

Yuuri doesn’t wake up alone in his bed.

It’s a slow realisation, mainly because he’s generally slow at waking up. His left arm has fallen asleep and there’s a warm weight against his chest and across his side. He’s half on top of the other person who he thinks is male, their legs tangled together.

Yuuri’s dressed, though, so that’s good. That’s definitely good. There was a party last night, yes, that’s what happened. His stress must’ve driven him to drink a lot – the night’s not really coming back to him.

The person in his arms moves. Yuuri’s heart stutters in terror as he realises that he wasn’t the first to wake up.

“Hey,” _Victor Nikiforov_ croaks as he peers up at him with a fond smile. “You’re up.”

This isn’t happening. Yuuri did _not_ bring Victor Nikiforov back home with him from the party.

He has to remember, okay? He has to remember right now. This isn’t happening. He stops breathing as he rakes through his brains for any scraps of memory at all. He remembers going to the party, yeah, he remembers drinking a couple of beers, sure, then Phichit talked into doing some jello shots, okay, then he thinks there was some tequila with some Swiss exchange student and one of his Japanese course mates had authentic sake and for some reason that had seemed like a really good idea but –

When did Victor enter the picture?! He doesn’t remember. He’s dressed though, so maybe this isn’t that incriminating, maybe he’s freaking out for nothing because that is _definitely_ a really nice burgundy v-neck on him, okay, nothing weird must’ve happened. Victor probably just locked himself out of his dorm room or something, or maybe Yuuri got so trashed that somebody had to take him back to his room and Victor had somehow gotten roped into being responsible since he was older and all… Yes! That must be it.

Yuuri lets out a sigh of relief. It’s all perfectly innocuous, isn’t it? He got trashed, Victor helped him back to his room but he must’ve been feeling sick and so he stuck around to make sure that he didn’t die of alcohol poisoning or choke in his puke in his sleep or something.

“Um. Thank you,” he tells Victor when he starts being able to breathe again. “For taking care of me.”

Victor seems to be studying his face worriedly. “How are you feeling?” he asks, rolling on his stomach and peering down at Yuuri. He’s beautiful. Yuuri’s heart lurches and warmth spreads throughout his body.

He hadn’t realised that his crush had become this bad. This doesn’t feel like a crush anymore.

“I’m okay,” he manages to reply as he rolls on his back and stares at the ceiling groggily.

“Hangover?” Victor prods him.

“No, I don’t really… I don’t usually get hangover.”

Victor blinks, surprised. “Really? I’m jealous.” He rolls onto his side, facing Yuuri again.

Their feet brush together and Yuuri blushes scarlet. He doesn’t know if Victor had done it on purpose. Not knowing _kills_ him. His mouth goes dry.

 _Of course he didn’t,_ he shouldn’t be stupid, just…

“You need any help with that?” Victor murmurs at him and yes, that foot brush was _definitely_ on purpose because it’s happening again, making Yuuri’s feet flinch. His hands clutch the comforter and he stares at Victor uncomprehendingly. He doesn’t know what’s going on.

“W-what?”

 Victor laughs merrily. “You wake up slowly, huh.”

Yuuri doesn’t really know what to say, so he says nothing.

Victor is a force of nature. It’s embarrassing, but Yuuri has had no doubts about it ever since the first time his friend Yuuko back home in Japan had made him watch a taped  TV program of one of the Junior Championships where he’d been competing. Victor was the gravity that drew people in – get too close, spare one measly look and all hopes of escape are futile. Yuuri’s always felt the relentless attraction almost as if as waves – sometimes it’s just like small ripples at the back of his mind, but sometimes it raises something out of him like a tsunami that he has no power of stopping.

It can be terrifying, but usually the shock of his feelings is numbed with the simultaneous sweet deliriousness.

He’s never had to actually _interact_ with Victor before, though.

An insistent foot climbs up his shin all the way to his inner thigh, toes curling to cup it. Yuuri squeaks. Victor presses a finger to his own lip, meeting Yuuri’s eyes coyly.

“Can I take care of you, Yuuri?”

Yuuri’s chest rumbles and his entire body shudders. He can’t look away from Victor’s eyes and _holy shit_ , that sex appeal is going to make him –

He has morning wood.

The horror dawns on him at first slowly and then all at once. Victor… Oh god, it had probably pressed against Victor before he woke up and now he’s been lying on his back and it’s been completely visible whilst tenting the comforter and…!

Victor’s eyes flick down at the tell-tale tent. Yuuri thinks he dies a little of the shame that floods him. He quickly rolls over to his side and buries his face in his hands.

He’s never going to be able to look at Victor again. It’s all ruined. Not only did he have to get pathetically trashed last night to the point where Victor’s had to look after him like a freaking parent, now he’s also shamed himself by flaunting his freaking _erection_ on the same bed as him. He’s never going to be able to live with himself.

“I’m so sorry!"

“Shy?” Victor asks thoughtfully. Yuuri hears and feels him stretching on the bed. “It’s okay, Yuuri. I don’t mind.”

Yuuri lowers his hands, searching Victor’s face for confirmation. “Really?”

“Hmm,” Victor hums with a happy smile. Then he slowly slides the covers off himself and –

Oh _no_.

Abort. Abort mission. He can’t deal with this.

His brains must’ve fried in shock because he can’t look away. Victor is lying on his bed. He’s still wearing the shirt, yeah, although it’s ridden up his back a little, but he is also _butt naked_. Yuuri has a half-naked _Victor Nikiforov_ lying on his college bed. Why? How?!

There are trousers and underwear wrapped around his ankles. Victor gracefully removes them with his feet and meets Yuuri’s heated gaze.

He must have been half undressed all this time. Yuuri might’ve been dressed but Victor sure as hell hasn’t been. What does it mean? It looks really incriminating. Holy shit, this entire situation is starting to look _really_ incriminating. What on earth has Yuuri done last night?!

“You can just look and jerk off too. I don’t mind.”

Victor _winks_.

Yuuri sits up with a jolt, pulling the comforter up against him as an attempt to shield his body although he probably should’ve just tossed it to cover Victor up instead. He scrambles for his glasses, which he can’t find, _where are they_? His panic is making Victor laugh. The mocking makes his stomach drop.

“Cute,” Victor teases him and at this point it’s all just flying over Yuuri’s head. Victor’s butt is _perfect_ , it’s a freaking work of art and he’s turning and _NO –_

Yuuri quickly looks away before he ends up seeing way too much because this is weird, this isn’t happening. He’s just going to check his phone really quickly and – oh.

It’s really late.

He rubs his eyes and squints at the painfully bright screen but no, it’s still past nine in the morning. He must’ve been too drunk to put on an alarm.

“I have to go,” he realises slowly and scrambles out of the bed in a haze. His phone has a litany of messages from Phichit asking about his whereabouts. His heart jolts in his chest when he half-jogs to his dresser and starts pulling off clothes. “Do you see my glasses?”

“You lost them at the party. Where are you going?” Victor asks from the bed, confused.

“I have class, I – I have a scholarship, I’m here on a scholarship so I have to – I need to go, I’m really late,” he stutters as the panic starts hitting him. “I’m sorry, I really need to go. You can help yourself to some breakfast and a shower, uh, here,” he continues rambling as he pulls out a towel and tosses it at Victor, artfully managing to cover up his exposed groin. “Just – I’m sorry, I really need to go,” he says as he quickly strips and redresses himself.

There’s crusty dry come in his boxers.

Yuuri, now hopelessly red-faced, pulls up the clean ones anyway and runs out of the room. “Bye!”

He grabs his school bag, slips his phone in and leaves the apartment in horror without looking back.

* * *

His lecturer gives him a scathing look when he sneaks in over an hour late, head hung low in shame. He finds Phichit in their usual seats at the back of the lecture hall and slides down on the seat next to him.

“Morning,” Phichit greets him, eyes sparkling with excitement. With just one look, Yuuri can _tell_ that Phichit is dying to talk him into oblivion. “Did your wild night continue until the morning? Yuuri, how lecherous!”

Yuuri drops his notebook down and clambers under the table to dig after it, ears burning. Did Phichit know? Is that why he hadn’t woken him? Oh god, had Phichit had to listen to him and Victor going at it last night?

“I’m so sorry,” he whimpers, still feeling terrified over everything. Suddenly all he can think about is Victor’s naked, toned buttocks and _god_ , he really didn’t want to get a stiffy in class. “I know we talked about how to go about bringing people home but I was _really_ drunk and –”

Phichit grins at him widely and pats his back proudly. “Don’t worry, I knew my Instagram addiction would save me one day! I just hit an after party and crashed at someone else’s, it’s cool. I couldn’t possibly come between you and _Victor_. You really blow my mind sometimes, Yuuri!”

“Phichit, you’re being too loud,” Yuuri complains and hunches over his notebook. He doesn’t want anyone to know. “And what about Instagram?”

“Oh nothing, don’t worry about it,” Phichit brushes him off, more quietly this time before starting to dig through his bag. “Just a _lot_ of party photos.”

Yuuri realises he’s getting a headache. Is he getting a hangover after all? He rubs at his temples distractedly, wondering if he’s getting too old for partying. Then again, it could be his missing glasses.

He can’t read the lecture slides projected on the far off wall _at all_.

“I’ve got your glasses,” Phichit whispers and pushes them in front of him helpfully. “You never came to get them back from me. Can’t blame you, I guess.”

Thank god Phichit had held on to his glasses. He doesn’t think he can afford new ones and he really doesn’t want to ask his parents for more money with their business going through a bit of a dry period after Yuuri’s switch from being a successful Junior skater to being a lacklustre Senior. The hype in Hasetsu is still going strong, his family and friends insist, but using him as the town’s selling point isn’t really drawing in tourists like it used to when he was actually worthwhile.

Now that he’s got his glasses back, he has his vision too. People keep stealing glances of him and snickering to their friends. A few of them wave conspiringly.

Yuuri doesn’t remember ever talking to them before.

He steals Phichit’s lecture notes and struggles to make sense of them. He desperately attempts copying them whilst jotting down notes on whatever the lecturer is currently teaching. His anxiety and despair seems to be running unusually rampant with the overwhelming combination of his traumatic morning, fear of the night before, embarrassment of being late, uneasiness of being watched by everyone and inability to keep up with his studies. It takes him over an hour of building up agony and holding back tears before he realises that he forgot to take his SSRI medication in the morning.

No wonder he feels so on edge. Sure, they aren’t supposed to stop having an effect or kick into withdrawals this fast but combined with everything that’s going on…

He hardly realises that they’ve been released for a short break. Phichit tries to coax him up for a while but Yuuri shakes his head, too overwhelmed. His friend pats his shoulder encouragingly before leaving the room with nearly everyone else.

He leaves his notes for Yuuri. He tries to keep working, but even though he’s done copying everything, nothing makes sense. His mind is running a mile per minute and his chest and throat feel so tight he’s suddenly scared he might manage to work himself into a panic attack.

It’s stupid. He curls up against the table and buries his head in the cover of his arms, willing himself to breathe slow and deep, just in case. Eventually his mind settles, just a bit. He still feels on edge, ready to tip over, but it’s manageable.

He can handle this. He really can. It’s alright. Nobody’s angry with him or disappointed. The only person who’s moping over everything is himself. That should be enough of a sign that he’s being irrational.

He’d taken Victor home with him. His childhood hero, idol, college crush… Yuuri had drunkenly just brought him home and clearly done something lurid with him.

It’s not how he wanted it to go. In a way, he never wanted it to go anywhere. Now that it has and he can’t even remember it, he’s left feeling devastated. The opportunity is never going to come again, he’s never going to be able to redo his first impression. He’s too terrified to even admit that he’s _given_ a false impression because he can’t even tell how off it is without admitting to not even remembering the night they’d spent together.

How offending would _that_ be?

Phichit eventually returns with a caffeine-free green tea for him. He brushes their legs together comfortingly but lets Yuuri have some peace to work through is anxiety and instead of babbling to him like Yuuri knows he’s itching to, he spends the lecture glued to his phone texting others.

Yuuri is grateful to have a friend like Phichit. He really is.

* * *

“Look who it is! Hello, handsome!”

Yuuri freezes and quickly looks around him but no, the blond man is definitely addressing him. He walks over and gives Yuuri’s butt a playful squeeze right in the middle of a busy university corridor.

“Sorry, I don’t…?”

“Chris. Of course you’ve forgotten me by now! How heartless, Yuuri,” the man sighs exasperated. “Let me jog your memory. We made quite an impact yesterday!”

Yesterday, of course. Yuuri flushes scarlet when Chris pulls out his phone. He must’ve flirted with more people than just Victor then. Phichit is going to have a field day with the drama it’s probably about to ensue.

“Maybe you’ll recognize me with a little less clothes,” Chris murmurs to him and hands the phone over. Yuuri takes it gingerly and peers at the screen.

It’s a photo of the two of them pole dancing in their underwear. Pole dancing on the same pole, skin touching. There’s _a lot_ of people around them, taking pictures and laughing.

He looks up at Chris helplessly, gripping the phone hard in his hands.

What if this spreads? He can’t let that happen. His family might see it, hell, it might end up dragging down his career. If this gets out, it’s going to follow him to the end of his days.

He _never_ should’ve taken those pole dancing lessons, core strength be damned.

“Can you delete this, please?” he asks anxiously.

Chris laughs fondly and ruffles his hair. “Oh darling, there’s pictures all over the internet already. And video too, I may add. You’re looking very vexing.” Chris winks and takes back his phone to go to the event’s Facebook gallery and hands the phone back to him. “You took the party by storm, not to mention capturing Victor’s attention. People are envious, you know.”

People are envious. _Chris knows._

Does _everyone_ know that he brought Victor home with him?

“I’m surprised you’re up on your feet all alone like that, all things considered,” Chris continues, undeterred by Yuuri’s ongoing mental breakdown. And god, _that innuendo_. Everyone _definitely_ knows he had sex with Victor Nikiforov. “You guys were adorable. Do you want me to send you the photos?”

“No,” Yuuri manages to choke out. _Photos._ There’s more, _of course_ there’s more. He doesn’t want to see them. “Please don’t.”

Chris sympathetically squeezes his shoulder when he slides the phone back in his pocket. “I’ll see you around, Yuuri.”

Later in the afternoon when he’s riding the bus home, Yuuri cracks and browses through the event’s gallery and sees photos and videos of himself all over the place in various states of undress, acting like an obnoxious drunk idiot, dancing and doing something as private and intimate as kissing a completely smitten-looking Victor Nikiforov on the dancefloor.

His mind crumbles and the pain resonates throughout his body.

It really, really hurts.

* * *

Some things never change. When Yuuri feels overwhelmed, he practices.

He’s only home long enough to grab his skates before heading off to the local ice rink.

All rinks he’s been to bear a striking similarity to each other, allowing Yuuri to feel transported elsewhere when his mind becomes a little too much for him to handle. Detroit’s skating rink is no Ice Castle, but if Yuuri lets the blurry surroundings fade away from his mind and just focuses on the ice, he can pretend.

It’s a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

When Yuuri skates, he thinks of home. He thinks about his dog Vicchan, who now sleeps in Mari’s room instead of his. He thinks about Mari and the strange comfort of smelling her cigarettes. He misses his mother’s katsudon because it doesn’t really taste the same anywhere else, and his father’s aloofness. He’s always felt a bit jealous about how he’s never seemed bothered by it.

He thinks about Minako and how she’s always been so good at handling him at his worst. It still doesn’t cease to amaze him. With her brute honesty and inability to keep herself from teasing people, nobody would’ve expected her to soothe his uneasiness by opening her ballet studio’s doors for him around the clock for private sessions.

Yuuko too. Yuuri hasn’t seen her in ages. She’s talking about starting a family with Takeshi, and a small part of it fills his heart with yearning. Not for her per se anymore, not really. He’s grateful to have had her by his side, though. She’d really brought him out of his shell and fuelled his love for skating.

It had been fun, obsessing over figure skaters when they were younger and skating Victor’s routines.

It’s the longing for that comfort from his childhood that leads him to stop the lazy footwork practice he’s doing and switch into performing one of Victor's old routines that he still remembers by hard. It had been his last one in the Junior category.

Yuuri had cried back then, not having been old enough to compete internationally yet, not to even mention moving onto the Seniors to fulfil his silly dream of skating on the same ice as his idol.

It’s a bittersweet memory. Personally he’d been feeling devastated, but the performance…

It was still one of Yuuri’s favourites. Victor had really moved on with a bang, leaving behind a record that nobody’s still managed to overtake.

Celestino would lecture him if he knew that Yuuri was doing jumps unsupervised, but he can’t bring himself to care. When he loses himself in Victor’s routine, he thinks he can finally breathe a little easier. The aches in his arm and chest fade away and new strength finds its way into his legs, determined to perform the triples.

He might’ve started skating with Yuuko in his mind, but as time goes on, when he looks to his side to where she would’ve been, all he can see is Victor and his mesmerising silvery locks fluttering around his graceful form.

He stays on the ice until the rink closes.

* * *

When Yuuri gets back home in the evening, it’s quiet.

“I’m home,” he calls out to the empty apartment anyway and takes off his shoes by the door. He shuffles back inside, goes to the kitchen, fills up a glass of water and slowly drinks all of it in one go.

After setting down the glass, he lets the air meet his lungs and slides down to sit on the kitchen floor dejectedly. He buries his face in his hands and succumbs to the depression creeping through his brain. His eyes burn from unshed tears and numbness spreads to his limbs.

For a moment, he remembers the morning. His arm had fallen asleep because Victor had been sleeping on it.

He remembers Victor rolling on his bed, gazing at him happily and talking, but he can’t really recall much of what he’d said.

The grief strikes him harshly and a sob racks his body, forcing him to hug his knees for comfort. He cries for a long time in the dark apartment, feeling worthless and awful about himself. He never should’ve come for America; he’s not good enough at skating to deserve this scholarship, he’s not learning enough on his course to justify being away from home to learn business management in order to take over his parents’ hot spring resort with Mari one day, and he can’t even go to a college party without getting incriminating photos and videos of himself all over the internet. He’d ended up bringing the most amazing man he’s ever known to exist home with him but doesn’t have the decency to remember the night, nor had he even treated him hospitably in the morning.

Victor probably never wants to see him again. He deserves better. Everyone around him deserves better.

He’s too tired for any of this.

Later, when he manages to drag himself back to his room, he finds that his bed has been made. There’s a post-it note on his pillow with a phone number and Victor’s signature and Yuuri feels his heart break a little more when he picks it up and stares at it, trying to numb himself to the sensation.

He crumples the note with shaky hands and tosses it to the bin by his work desk. The grief he feels is almost tangible. When Yuuri stares at the paper ball in his bin, he thinks even his younger self would really hate him now.

Yuuri doesn’t deserve somebody like Victor Nikiforov in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter was too happy for the tags, wasn't it? Enter misery.
> 
> I'm not sure how long it'll take to finish writing Chapter 3 - I'm missing large chunks of it here and there. On a brighter note, Chapter 4 is mostly done, so even if the wait for the next chapter takes a little bit longer, you won't have to wait for the conclusion for too long!
> 
> Thanks for sticking by!


	3. Day #3: Victor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor struggles to figure out where he stands with his soulmate.

Victor’s soulmate doesn’t call him.

He doesn’t understand. It’s not unheard of for some people to resist the notion of soulmates and for practical or ideological reasons to severe the bond by putting distance between the two parties until the bond becomes frail and ignorable or even crumbles away completely. People who are already married sometimes do it, soulmates who wind up realising that their soul’s match isn’t what they want from life after all do it, people just _do it_. Yuuri had been so amazed though, he’d spent the night with Victor, they’d really clicked and started nurturing the bond. It had started solidifying and Victor was _hooked_ and now…

Yuuri hasn’t called.

Victor checks his phone again but the only new notification on his phone is a text from Chris, demanding Victor to keep him informed about any new developments with his Sleeping Beauty. When he’d gotten home the day before, Victor had texted him three outrageously long messages waxing poetry about his encounter with his soulmate and the unforgettable night that followed.

That had been before he’d started realising that Yuuri had left him high and dry.

Makkachin stirs next to him and whines. She sits beside him, yawns and starts showering his face with kisses. Victor ruffles the poodle’s fur, trying to appease his companion.

“Why hasn’t he called me, Makkachin?” he whines at the dog. “Is it a cultural thing? Or was he just really drunk and woke up realising that he didn’t want me after all? Or is he just shy? I don’t know what to do.”

Makkachin barks insistently and starts nuzzling his nose under Victor’s armpit, shoving at him as an attempt to make him get up.

Victor should know how to make himself handle this. He should just be a responsible pet owner and get through his and Makkachin’s morning routine with dignity but his limbs feel heavy and mind numb. Sorrow is swelling up in his chest in a terrifying way and _he’s scared_.

Victor doesn’t get rejected. He’s charming, he’s gorgeous and he’s talented – people tend to bend over backwards to give him what he wants, or what they think that he wants. It doesn’t always work out and sometimes it just leads to chaos and pain but it’s generally done with good intentions. So why hasn’t his soulmate called him?

He doesn’t really know what to say, so he ends up hugging Makkachin closer to his body and burying his face in the poodle’s coarse fur. Tremors run through his body and he breaks into ugly tears when the darkness in his mind takes over his body.

None of this makes sense. It was never supposed to go this way.

It takes an hour for Makkachin to start flipping out on him, yipping and pulling at his trousers with her teeth to coax him up for her breakfast.

Maybe Yuuri didn’t see the note with his number. He mustn’t have. Otherwise he would’ve called or texted. Right?

Victor desperately stalks him on Facebook and sends a friend request. They need to meet up. They need to make this overwhelming misery go away.

He doesn’t know what they’ll do if they don’t.

* * *

 

After finally walking his dog, Victor makes it all the way to the rink’s dressing room before he realises that practice isn’t going to happen today.

He’d felt anxious the day before waiting for Yuuri to contact him but the withdrawals from his soulmate are rapidly intensifying. His hands and feet are shaking so badly that he can’t even get his skates on his feet. It makes him feel stupid and useless.

He lets the skates drop to the floor and buries his face in his hands, trying to draw in deep breaths.

All he wants to do is see Yuuri. He wants to pull him into his embrace and never let go, fondly chastise him for neglecting to get in contact with him and putting him through this. He wants to kiss him silly and feel the pain in his chest melt away, replaced by the warmth of the love between them.

Victor wants to skate with him. He wants that emotional connection to bloom between them like it did on the dancefloor. From what he’s seen, one of Yuuri’s strengths in skating is his ability to project his emotions. Skaters like him are hard to come by and Victor adores it, has adored it since first catching him practicing whilst arriving early for his own slotted training session.

The thoughts of Yuuri keep flooding his mind like a particularly forceful waterfall. Victor shakily shoves his skates back in his duffel.

If Yuuri somehow missed or lost his post-it note, he might not have a way of contacting Victor. They’re missing out on crucial time that they should spend bonding. Not only that – being apart is _torture_. Victor tends to be easy-going and driven but the hormone offset from meeting his soulmate is really messing him up. He feels like a stranger in his own mind with the darkness that’s seeping in from the edges of his vision.

To be fair, he does know where Yuuri lives. Expecting Yuuri to take the lead might’ve been selfish from him – besides, there might be a cultural barrier that he’s unaware of. He himself doesn’t necessarily comply with the rigid Russian traditions and revels more in the American openness and romanticism, but that doesn’t mean Yuuri feels the same. Maybe Japanese people are more private, maybe they dishonour homosexuality even among soulmates, or maybe there are some courting traditions that aren’t really playing out. Victor wouldn’t know, and his hands shake way too much to google it.

The way he sees it, there’s only one way to find out.

“What is up with you, Vitya?” Yakov grumbles at him, having gotten sick of waiting for him at the rink. He projects his gruff and dominant aura with his fists shoved in his coat’s pockets and chin held up even though he’s peering down at Victor who’s sitting down on the bench.

Victor forces himself to smile at him tiredly. He’s lucky to have known Yakov long enough to see through the tough exterior and tell when he’s genuinely concerned for his protégés.

“Ah, I don’t think I can skate today,” he says, feeling a little breathless. He extends his hands towards Yakov, showing him how they badly they tremble. “Soulmate withdrawals.”

Yakov takes a moment to process the information. His lips press tighter together and he holds Victor’s gaze, reading the situation. Then he throws his head back, pissed.

“Freaking soulmates, always causing trouble,” he huffs angrily. Victor gulps, feeling apologetic. Soulmates are a painful topic for Yakov. “If they’re not here, I take it you didn’t get didn’t get to ride off to the sunset like you were planning to.”

“It’s complicated,” Victor insists, defensive. He doesn’t know what Yuuri is up to or what he wants at all, not having talked to him since the previous morning. It’s way too early to jump into conclusions and he doesn’t want Yakov to hate his soulmate on unreasonable grounds. “I’ll figure it out and let you know.”

“You get three days until I drag you back on the ice even if I have to push you around it,” Yakov declares. Victor can work with it – by three days he _should_ be back in order, either happily bonded or coolly cut off from all these feelings and hopefully side-effects too.

“I knew you’d understand, Yakov,” he thanks his coach earnestly and pulls him into a crushing hug. If there’s one thing in this world Victor never has to doubt, it’s Yakov’s love for him. “I’m grateful.”

“Just get your ass back on the ice soon, Vitya,” Yakov grumbles when he lets go of him. Victor glances at his skates, yearning filling his chest.

“I intend to,” he promises when his coach sits him back down and packs up his bag for him.

Sometimes Victor feels like Yakov is more of a father figure to him than his biological father ever was.

* * *

 

 Victor bumps into Yuuri before he even makes it to the boy’s dorm.

He’s sitting on one of the benches where students usually hang around to smoke with another male student of Asian descent. They’re talking heatedly, sitting thigh-to-thigh.

Victor gets instantly jealous.

They must be friends. Just friends. It looks like they’re talking about something scandalous and Yuuri’s friend is bursting with excitement whilst Yuuri desperately holds his phone away from him, blushing like crazy.

Bending backwards like that with such ease, Victor sees a figure skater’s flexibility in him. No, not just a skater’s. A _dancer’s_.

That, doubled with the leap of logic in his brains that Yuuri’s friend is teasing him about his phone makes his heart beat erratically at his chest. They might’ve been talking about Yuuri’s nervousness to call Victor. He was working up the courage to call! Maybe Yuuri _is_ just shy.

It’s alright, though. Victor is going to make it easy for him. He’s here to play for keeps.

“Yuuri!” he exclaims and waves at the couple. They freeze and settle down from their scuffle, staring at him disbelievingly.

Yuuri’s friend’s eyes widen comically and he beams at his friend ecstatically. Yuuri squeezes the phone in his hands like a lifeline and stares at Victor like a deer in headlights while he closes the distance between them.

“You didn’t call me, Yuuri,” he complains with a pout, arms crossed and head cocked endearingly. Yuuri flinches and glances anxiously at his friend.

Victor won’t have that, though – he wants Yuuri’s eyes _on him_.

He reaches out to run his finger under Yuuri’s chin, guiding his face back to him.

“How am I supposed to get to know you better if you don’t reach out to me, hmm?” he murmurs seductively and Yuuri’s mouth falls open. He’s gaping, eyes glued to Victor’s like he wants them to be and all the pain in his body disappears. It’s replaced with a light, fluttery feeling and when Victor gazes into Yuuri’s eyes _he feels_.

He doesn’t know if it’s possible to fall in love this quickly. At the very least he’s hopelessly crushing on this magnificent human being. Then again, they’re soulmates. Maybe his soul has loved him all along and is overjoyed by their reunion.

He kneels down and lets his fingers leave Yuuri’s chin. They skim over his arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake until they reach his palm where his phone rests.

“Did you not get my number?” he teases, leaning in and feeling Yuuri’s quivery intake of breath on his lips. “Should I just type it in your phone then?”

Yuuri seems to snap out of his daze when he realises that Victor’s fingers are starting to wrap around the phone in his hands and he quickly grips it and yanks it away from Victor protectively.

“Oh, uh, t-this is P-Phichit’s,” he stutters and glances at his friend again. Blanched, Victor turns to him too, trying to process the situation.

Yuuri is holding his friend’s phone.

…It’s not Yuuri’s phone.

Whatever the two had been messing around about hadn’t been about building up Yuuri’s courage to call Victor. He’d completely misread the situation. He feels a bit unsteady as he straightens up again. Yuuri blushes furiously when he gingerly hands the phone back to his friend.

“Hi! I’m Phichit!” the friend introduces himself gleefully. “We’re rooming. Did Yuuri lose your number?”

“Phichit!” Yuuri squeaks and glances briefly at Victor. He looks really uncomfortable. Whether he’s just shy or genuinely _not interested_ , Victor has no idea.

“Ah, maybe you didn’t see it. I left a note,” Victor says cheerfully, helpfully providing Yuuri with a chance to casually play the whole thing off without too much embarrassment. “You left so early I didn’t have time to give it in person.”

“I saw it,” Yuuri admits quickly, tensing up. He opens his mouth to continue but nothing comes out. His eyes are shining in a peculiar way like he’s thinking, trying to figure out the right words.

Victor waits but the silence drags on and becomes painfully awkward.

Eventually Yuuri just closes his mouth and blushes scarlet. “Sorry,” he mumbles and really, he does look sorry and even regretful when he shreds Victor’s hopeful heart into pieces.

“It’s okay,” Victor says, trying to play it off cool even though _it most definitely isn’t okay_. “I was hoping to ask you out but I guess you’re busy.”

“Yeah, I–” Phichit kicks Yuuri’s foot loudly. Yuuri pushes his glasses up his nose anxiously but holds his ground. “It’s… not a good time.”

Victor brushes his hair behind his ear and nods numbly. Phichit’s jaw has dropped. It’s really embarrassing to get rejected in front of a third party like this. Besides, he’s pretty sure he’s seen Phichit’s name all over social media. Talk about his low moment is probably going to spread online like wildfire as soon as he turns his back.

“Alright then,” he forces himself to say and hesitantly takes Yuuri’s right hand into his. The skin is clammy and hot when he presses the knuckles to his lips, kissing Yuuri’s ring finger in a Russian custom between soulmates. Yuuri looks baffled when he stares at their hands.

Victor lets go, their fingers parting with one final slide that makes his fingers tingle. “It was wonderful to meet you, Yuuri,” he bids his farewell softly, eyes falling to the younger man’s lips mournfully.

If only Yuuri would ask him to say. If only Yuuri would let him know that he’s reading this situation wrong, that he really _does_ want Victor to stick around.

He doesn’t.

Turning around and walking away is probably the hardest and most mature and selfless thing Victor has ever done in his life.

“I’m really glad to have met you too!” Yuuri’s desperate shout breaks the buzz in his ears, making him glance back over his shoulder.

Yuuri has stood up, looking after him and clutching his chest. When Victor looks at him, the younger man wills a brave smile to his face. He waves an awkward farewell, kind in his cruelty.

There’s no way Victor’s ever going to be able to hate Yuuri for his rejection with a face like that.

He waves back and continues walking away, sorrow intensifying with every step he wills himself to take.

* * *

 

Chris lets himself in Victor’s apartment with the spare key he’s nicked from Victor’s place at one point or another. He opens the curtains, making Victor flinch sluggishly on the couch. Makkachin gets up and goes to greet him happily, eager to get showered with attention that’s been sparse as of late.

“Get up. We’re getting help for you.”

Victor slowly sits up, feeling like a zombie. He wraps himself tightly in the quilt he’d been using as a duvet.

“Wow, he got you good, didn’t he,” Chris murmurs whilst kneeling on the floor with Makkachin. “Soulmates suck. Now, _up_. Makkachin deserves better than this, don’t you girl?” he coos.

Chris is right. Makkachin does deserve better. Victor swallows back a sob and rests his forehead against his knees.

It hurts and he doesn’t know what to do.

“Victor,” Chris tries coaxing him again. “If you won’t get up, I’m calling Yakov. We both know he’s going to be shit when it comes to handling this so we’d better just do this on our own, hmm? Let’s go. It’ll get better.”

Victor knows it’ll get better. It just really doesn’t feel like it right now. A part of him doesn’t even want it to get better.

Chris is right, though. The last thing he needs right now is Yakov trying to intervene with the side-effect rollercoaster of Victor’s fraying soul bond. His coach doesn’t exactly have one of those awe-inspiring love stories when it comes to his own run-in with his soulmate. He still curses the existence of the bond, helplessly drawn to his ex-wife with whom he just ends up fighting with nearly every time they meet. Their soul-bond had solidified back in the day, but their personalities had ended up clashing like no other.

Victor knows that most of the time soulmates don’t even meet each other, and when they do, the majority don’t end up working out for one reason or another. He’s always known it. Somehow he’d just always figured he was going to be different, that _he_ was going to get his happy ending.

It’s sobering to realise that it takes two to make things work out like that.

“What am I going to do now, Chris?” he moans brokenly in his friend’s shoulder after slumping against him. “It was the only thing I’ve ever really wanted. I don’t know what to do with my life anymore.”

“I know,” his friend tells him, wrapping a thin scarf around Victor’s neck. “I know, you romantic ditz.”

* * *

Chris takes him to see the school counsellor who’s in way over his head with Victor’s predicament and refers him to a speedy meeting with a specialist at a nearby hospital. Chris sticks with him through it all, buying Victor a venti caramel macchiato from Starbucks on their way to the new appointment as an attempt to soothe him. They sit side by side in the waiting room and Victor pulls a hood over his head, trying to hide from the world. It’s all just too much.

Unscheduled appointments like this take forever, he discovers. It takes them over an hour to get his bloodwork done and much longer to analyse it. By the time a doctor is free to see him it’s already late in the evening. Victor doesn’t feel like the protocol is speedy at all. At least they’d kept him supplied with painkillers after Chris had gotten sick of his whining and gone off to flirt with a nurse for them.

The doctor’s office is tiny and the fluorescent light makes the atmosphere cold and clinical. Victor feels cramped when he sits down, seated uncomfortably close to the doctor behind her desk, clicking around her computer screen in preparation. She flips through the files on her table, humming to herself thoughtfully.

Victor wonders if she does this a lot or if he’s an outlier in her monotonous day as a general practitioner.

She sets the files down and looks up at him with an encouraging smile on her face.  

“How are you feeling?”

“Awful,” he slurs crankily. “Depressed.”

“Low mood then. It might feel difficult to deal with if you’re not typically prone to bouts of depression. Your cortisol levels are pretty clearly elevated and there seems to be some serotonin deficiency going on. Are you experiencing any physical symptoms? Headaches, nausea?”

He’s never really allowed himself to be weak before. He’s always just stubbornly medicated himself and pushed through things, trying to rest when he can and keep going otherwise. Feeling this helpless makes him feel ashamed of himself.

“Lethargy mostly,” he answers. “And it hurts. Not really headaches, more like… general pain. Mostly in my chest. And then there’s… muscle spasms.”

“How’s the pain on a scale from 1 to 10?”

“It keeps changing. Mostly maybe a five. At worst …seven. Or eight. I don’t really know. It comes and goes.”

The doctor purses her lips and gives him a long appraising look. Victor gulps, feeling uneasy.

“Would you say it interferes with your breathing?”

“Well, I _can_ breathe, so no? Maybe a bit?”

More notes. Victor hopes he doesn’t get locked up in some kind of a psych ward. It’s an irrational fear probably, but his world is crumbling and the last thing he needs is solid proof that he’s unusually ill.

Why does _he_ have to be an especially bad case?

“Physical and mental discomfort are to be expected during soul bond rejection,” the doctor assures him when she observes him slumping exhaustedly. “The symptoms usually clear up within a week. If you feel like they persist, we can discuss alternative options. Therapy, mood medication. Unfortunately they tend to take a while to take effect, so even though you seem to be struggling now, I’d advise you to first wait to see if the symptoms go away on their own.”

Victor nods. He knows there’s no instant relief for what he’s experiencing. Soul bond rejection is challenging to treat. The best doctors tend to be able to do is offer prescriptions for strong painkillers and sleeping pills if necessary. People who are already on mood medication tend to have an easier time dealing with the mental aspect of the rejection, but generally patients aren’t so lucky.

“When did your initial meeting happen?”

Victor avoids looking at her by braiding his hair.

“Well, I’ve seen him around. We both do figure skating and practice at the same rink so we occasionally run into each other.”

“The initial physical contact, I meant,” he gets prodded gently.

The memory is so stark in Victor’s mind it frightens him. Yuuri, Yuuri, _Yuuri_. Cheeks flushed from alcohol, eyes hazy until Victor grabbed his arm to steady him. The dawning wonder on his face as he looked up at Victor who was left feeling flabbergasted and enchanted, the world exploding in vibrant colours all around him.

He probably won’t ever feel this way about anyone ever again.

“A couple of days ago,” he says numbly. “Less. It was in the evening.”

She makes a quick note on her notepad. “Can you walk me through what happened?”

“We were at a party. There, uh, there was alcohol,” he admits guiltily. “He was really drunk. He almost fell next to me so I reached out to steady him and… you know.” He undoes his braid and starts working on a fishtail instead.

“And then?”

And then Victor’s life was set alight with love only to be wrecked beyond belief.

“We danced and talked. Stayed for a bit longer. Then, um, he took me home,” he tells her with a cracking voice and finally meets her eyes desperately. She needs to understand, she needs to not judge him and understand that it was _real_. That night it was real, Victor wasn’t acting foolish and sloppy, he knew what he was doing. He did what seemed like the right thing. “I wasn’t really drunk at that point anymore, I was thinking clearly and Yuuri stopped drinking after we bumped into each other too so he was coming down too.”

“How lucid was he?”

“He…” Victor’s voice breaks. “I don’t know.”

He thought he knew. Yuuri had been talking to him and dancing with him and coming onto him and he’d handled it all really well. Sure, he’d been bashful and staggering but not about to pass out or anything. From what Victor could tell, he’d managed to keep track of his surroundings. Yuuri had been _present_. He’d thought that had been enough. Hadn’t it?

“Do you think that I…?” he tries asking fearfully, heart fluttering painfully in his chest. He runs his hands through his scalp, gripping the hairs as the pain starts building up again. “B-but I didn’t… I didn’t touch him, okay?”

“But you did go home with him,” the doctor confirms with a soothing tone, reacting to Victor’s escalating panic. He knows he has to tell the truth, all of it, or she’s not going to be able to help him. It’s just that he hadn’t even realised how bad it all looked before he started explaining it to an outsider. It had been a perfectly comfortable and romantic night for him and Yuuri had been into it too, right until the morning anyway. Now he’s scared that he’s coming across as some kind of a predator to his own soulmate.

“Yeah. Yeah, we went to his apartment and made out because… I mean, the bond solidifies best when you…”

“When you get intimate soon after meeting each other.”

“Yes. So I… I mean, I’ve always wanted… Soulmates have always been important to me,” he tries to explain numbly. “My soulmate’s been important. I just wanted to have that bond. Soulmates are supposed to be… I’d waited really long and I found him and he was more amazing than I ever imagined and I just wanted that. I wanted him. So I wanted to nurture the bond and he seemed to want it too so we got into bed.”

“You didn’t touch him, though? Or did you do some petting while you made out?” the lady asks him carefully, scribbling something in her notes again. “Maybe you had an emotional connection?”

There’d been an emotional connection, sure. It had been electric, all the way from the dancefloor. Victor had let Yuuri wrap his arms around him and lead him and he’d handed himself over hesitantly but completely. His heart had never raced like that before.

“He was perfect.” His voice is frighteningly steady but low with the sorrow. “I couldn’t help it, okay? I got emotional. I think I connected. And he asked, so… I let him touch me,” he admits, burying his face in his hands. “I didn’t touch him but he, uh. With his hand. Just me.”

“Within hours of meeting each other he got you off with his hands?”

Victor nods shakily.

“Hmm, that might be the problem,” the doctor decides, scribbling down on her notes again. “Generally soul bond rejection isn’t as painful as yours, but you let your soul reach out quite firmly at a very vulnerable time frame. If your soul got that close, it might be reluctant to let go again. It’s possible that your soulmate isn’t experiencing as powerful side-effects if he was heavily inebriated at the time and didn’t let you touch him as intimately.”

“So it’s just me then?” Victor croaks, upset. It has to be a joke. How tragically fitting would it be for him to have spent his life obsessing over soulmates and soul bonds only to manage bonding unequally and getting rejected? And after everything, his soulmate just… what? Got the typical bout of depression and all was good otherwise?

It would explain why Yuuri hadn’t been as eager to be with him.

“These things affect both parties,” the doctor assures him gently. “It’s never easy for either party. It’s definitely not just you, and with you having gotten so intimate he’s bound to be having his own struggles. He might’ve been lucky enough to avoid the brunt of it unlike you, though.”

It’s unfair. It’s horribly, terribly unfair.

Then again… Victor had been the one to get them in this mess to begin with. The doctor was right – Yuuri _had_ been drunk. He obviously hadn’t been thinking clearly. There might be circumstances in his life that made his soul bond with Victor inconvenient but when he’d been drunk, he hadn’t managed to think the consequences through.

Yuuri had never been anything but kind and courteous to him, even when rejecting him. He doesn’t deserve the misery that’s been plaguing Victor these past two days.

“…I’m glad,” Victor chokes out and feels tears stinging in his eyes.

Yuuri shouldn’t suffer for Victor’s pushiness any more than he already has to.

“I’ll write you a note of absence and prescribe you some heavy duty painkillers. We’ll have another meeting next week to see how things are progressing and if you end up needing any follow-up sessions.”

She hands him a tissue. Victor buries his face in it, drying away his tears.

“How do I let go?” he asks, trembling. He searches her sorrowful eyes and realises that there’s nothing she can say to comfort him.

“With time,” she answers. “Time and brave selflessness.”


	4. Day #4: Yuuri (+ extra)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri contemplates courage, and how such a simple spark could turn his life around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am terribly overjoyed for the onslaught of comments for the previous chapter. Thank you so, so much! I was in a bit of a slump and got sick pretty much right after posting and somehow people showing their support really helped me through all that easier. You guys are lifesavers!
> 
> I hope the final chapter lives up to the expectations! Time to resolve this mess!

Victor is erotic beyond Yuuri’s wildest imaginations.

His hips keep thrusting his painfully hard erection into the tight heat. His cheap dorm bed squeaks from the steady rhythm and Yuuri can’t stop panting and looking down at the starkly flushed and blissed out man in his arms. Victor’s thighs quiver against Yuuri’s sides and his hands cup the back of Yuuri’s neck, clinging to him.

The best things are the whiny cries that keep escaping his shapely lips. Yuuri can’t stop himself from staring or driving into him, desperate to please his crush, to be worthy of his arousal. Victor feels hot and slick against his body, pulling him close and keening, gently nipping and laving at his eyebrows and cheeks and murmuring lurid encouragements in Japanese with a raspy Russian accent.

“Yuuri, feels so good. Yuuri, so good. Please, Yuuri, please, so good…”

He must be worthy if he’s driving Victor this crazy with pleasure.

His thrusts become more frantic and he straightens up a bit to get a better angle and more control in the way his erection slides in and out of Victor. He wraps his arms under Victor’s thighs and yanks him forward, making Victor’s voice hitch and fingers grip the sheets. He grips Victor’s hips and keeps pounding into him, admiring the erotic vision beneath him.

“Harder, Yuuri,” Victor purrs and his breathing is laboured and hitching. His own erection is flushed pink, strong and undeniably European. It’s twitching like Victor is right at the edge, ready to come hard all over himself.

It’s all too much. “V-Victor,” Yuuri splutters. Victor’s hands leave the sheets to grip his thighs, urging him to keep going and pressing bruises to the skin but Yuuri feels no pain.

He leans over Victor to see his face from up close and keeps desperately fucking him, feeling his own orgasm building up. Victor keeps looking him right in the eyes and whining louder.

Just when Yuuri is about to pull out, Victor buries his fingers into Yuuri’s hair and reaches down with his thumb to run it over Yuuri’s lips. He leans in, head tilting, so ethereally beautiful and –

“ _You can come in me, Yuuri,_ ” he whispers sultrily. A choked sob escapes Yuuri’s lips and he’s coming _hard_ , pushing as deep into the heat as he can whilst Victor grips him, holds him impossibly close and he bites into his pillow –

His blaring phone alarm is a rude awakening.

* * *

 

It’s been a tough few days. Getting blackout drunk, becoming the talk of the university and rejecting a proposition from his long-time crush whom he’d apparently bedded but couldn’t remember for the life of him. At this point, all Yuuri thinks he has are regrets.

The loneliness drives him to the rink again. He feels a bit better today, just the barest bit more settled. He’s got an appointment later this week to discuss his medication dosage with his psychiatrist, but he thinks he might be over the worst slump. Relapses tend to be like that – no matter how insurmountable they feel when they strike, they do eventually pass. It’s just hard to remember it sometimes when he’s right in the thick of it.

The ice of the rink settles him in a way medication doesn’t, though. It’s a convenient form of therapy too, considering his profession. Celestino might be proud if he knew how much extra practice Yuuri has put in these past few days. Then again, he’s hardly touched his own routine. Somehow skating Victor’s old ones soothes his anxieties away better.

He probably should’ve done something differently, or at least apologized more sincerely. The last time Yuuri saw Victor, walking away from him in the courtyard, he’d really looked hurt.

Maybe Yuuri had broken his heart. It was a strange thought, almost exhilarating except that it wasn’t, not with the shame of having let down the person he admired the most.

If Yuuri still had his number, he might’ve texted him. He’d already tossed the bin away though, in a quick fit of despair. Now he’s too shy to seek Victor out, too eager to ignore his problems.

He’ll get over it. He always does, somehow.

He feels a frail tug at his heart, and before he thinks about it more, he starts skating one of Victor’s routines again. It’s an oldie but a goodie, almost like a pleading apology to a loved one. Compared to his own skate this season, this routine lacks the sharpness and harshness. The desperation is almost mellow, movements smooth glides and jumps full of soft love rather than stark determination. It feels more befitting to his feelings right now.

He really is sorry, he realises as he skates. His dream flashes though his mind, making him blush. The dizzying Bielman spin wipes the image from his mind, but the longing remains.

He changes the jump components but otherwise loses himself in the program. Quads turn to triples and triples to doubles, but he doesn’t flub any of them. The tug at his chest guides him and he gracefully accepts the warmth, recklessly dancing out his feelings on ice.

He wonders if Victor does this too. If he speaks the same language.

Maybe he doesn’t. Victor doesn’t seem to have trouble expressing himself off ice – why would he need to glide of his blades to work through his feelings?

His programs are artful with emotions, though. It’s the reason Yuuri’s always found solace in them.

He’s sweating and his body feels hot yet it’s _invigorating_. He feels better than he has for days. It’s all going to be alright. The more he loses himself on ice, thinking about the past few days, the more he thinks he can let go of the harsh images of hurt and confusion on Victor’s face. Instead, he fondly finds himself reminded of the little spark residing deep in his eyes, the quirk of his lips in a genuine smile and gentle brush of his fingers against Yuuri’s skin, adoring and grateful.

He finishes the skate and strikes the ending pose, sliding on the ice on his knees with his fingers gripping the fabric over his heart and eyes cast to the ceiling. He’s panting, coming down from it all, the rush, the realisation, the regret –

Slow clapping breaks the silence.

Yuuri’s throat feels tight and his heart hammers in his chest whilst he frantically looks for the source of the clapping and – there.

Victor.

He’d recognize that silver hair anywhere, even without his glasses.

Why is Victor here? He was never supposed to see this. Yuuri is mortified. He dazedly eases out of the ending pose, arms flopping down to his sides. What’s up with the slow clap? Is it mean and sarcastic? Victor has every right to be upset and vicious with him. But…

It doesn’t feel insulting.

Unknowingly, Yuuri’s right hand rises back to clench at his shirt over his chest. Skating Victor’s routine had eased his anxieties considerably and when the worst of the exhaustion starts leaving his body, he feels oddly relaxed.

Victor stops clapping. He takes a slow step back from the rink’s barrier and all Yuuri knows is he can’t let him go like this.

“Wait!” he yells, forces himself back on his feet and starts rushing toward him.

Victor freezes. When Yuuri gets close enough to see him again, there’s a serious look on his face but there’s hesitance. Victor must really have been hurt by Yuuri to make a face like that – it’s like he’s hiding his feelings and Yuuri has no idea what he’s thinking but he thinks he can tell how he feels anyway.

He reaches his hand over the barrier and grips Victor’s sleeve, tugging him forward.

There are so many things he should say, that he _wants_ to say. Instead, what ends up coming out of his mouth amidst the panicky surprise is “Why are you here?”

“I felt like skating,” Victor answers carefully and gestures at sport bag by the nearest bench.

Of course – why else would he be here?

“I can go,” he continues. It comes across as a statement, but Yuuri hears it as a question. He gazes at Victor’s eyes and he must be really gone on him for all of the worries and pains he’s been struggling with to just ease away like this.

Victor is not just the skating prodigy whose old Junior Championship records everyone is left trying to overcome, Yuuri’s idol and inspiration – when Yuuri looks at him now, he sees just another hurt person. He had really fucked up, letting his problems with himself get the best of him. Victor hadn’t deserved to be dragged into this mess only to be cruelly snubbed by Yuuri.

He wants to make amends. It doesn’t matter if they talk after this, if anything changes or goes back to the way it’s always been – he wants to apologize. Victor deserves better than Yuuri at his worst.

He deserves the truth.

“We can share the ice,” he offers nervously but tightens his hold on Victor’s arm to ensure him that he means it.

After a moment’s hesitation, Victor gives him a tight smile. “Alright then.”

It’s awkward but Yuuri is determined. He waits for Victor to put his skates on and enter the rink. Victor seems contemplative and Yuuri is stuck inside his own head, frantically trying to figure out how to put his feelings into words that would reach Victor. Victor never pushes him, but somehow they end up skating around the rink together a few times whilst Victor slowly warms up. It’s simple and Yuuri’s heart flutters in his chest – he’s dreamed of this, being on the same ice as Victor, but doing it like this has never really occurred to him. It’s always been about competitions and being recognized for his hard work in his skating, not about… this. This casual intimacy.

The silence between them is heavy and loaded, but there’s comfort in the way Victor waits for him to get his speech together.

“I’m really sorry. I handled this really badly,” Yuuri finally ends up mumbling, deciding to keep it simple. “I must have hurt you. I didn’t want to, but…”

Victor doesn’t reply. Yuuri isn’t sure whether it’s because he senses that Yuuri isn’t quite finished, or whether it’s because there’s nothing he really has to say anymore. Skating around the rink like this must be dull and he must be itching to stretch his muscles in other ways, with step sequences and spins to get a better feel of the ice, but he doesn’t leave Yuuri’s side.

Victor is kind. All Yuuri wants is to do right by him.

“I’m not really the kind of person I was at the party,” he admits nervously, blushing with shame. “I, uh, get really rowdy when I get drunk. I was really drunk and did a lot of stupid things and somehow you got caught up in it and I’m really sorry about that. I just, uh.” His mouth is so dry it’s really hard to talk and keep his head clear. “I’ve always looked up to you. Your skating, it’s… I’ve really idolised you from afar and I guess the alcohol gave me the courage to talk to you for once. It’s not how I actually am at all, though. I’d hate to think that I lead you on with you thinking that I’m something I’m just… not.” He gulps and feels Victor looking at him, searching for something. Yuuri meets his eyes, frightened. “I’m not really the guy you ended up liking. I just… didn’t want to disappoint you but I guess I managed to do that anyway. I’m really sorry.”

Victor brushes his hair out of the way of his eyes and behind his ear and he’s looking at Yuuri with a serious yet sad expression.

“I like you just fine right now,” he says.

Yuuri chokes. He raises his hands on his mouth and stops skating, just gliding forward with the momentum he has. Victor scrapes the edge of his skate delicately on the ice, turning around to face him.

Victor is ethereal and he’s way too good for Yuuri.

Then again, is Yuuri the one who gets to decide that?

“U-um,” he stutters, trying to find something to say but every thought he thinks he has somehow gets away from him and he’s left standing there nervously with Victor’s eyes on him. His palms are sweaty against his skin and he feels small, but the intense look in Victor’s eyes coaxes something out of him.

Victor thinks Yuuri is alright. Anxious, rambling, good-for-nothing Yuuri who can barely hold a conversation. Yuuri isn’t sure what Victor sees in him, what _anyone_ he’s close to him really sees in him. It’s dizzying, because there has to be something about him, he knows it. Why else would the amazing kind of people he knows be so invested in him? Why else would they dedicate so much of their love and efforts for him?

Yuuri doesn’t understand what makes him different from the rest and draws a select few people in. All he knows is that it exists, that mysterious quality he fails to see in himself.

A gentle smile spreads on Victor’s lips as he observes Yuuri’s mind trying to solve the puzzle in his head.

For Victor to look at him like that, it has to be magnificent, even if Yuuri cannot see it.

“Thank you,” he ends up saying and _really_ , _that’s_ what he’s going with? His entire face has to be red by now from the embarrassment. “I, thank you.”

“I’m sorry too,” Victor tells him, making Yuuri blink in confusion. “I tried to push you into something. I didn’t think about your feelings.”

“N-n-no, it’s okay! It’s totally okay!” Yuuri finds himself exclaiming anxiously. “I just freaked out! I mean, I b-basically woke up with y-you half-naked in my bed and I, I mean, I _really_ admired you so I panicked. I, um, sometimes s-self-sabotage when I’m anxious and I, I just…! It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Victor’s calm expression crumbles for a moment when relief floods him and he slumps down on the ice, making Yuuri flinch in panic. “I’m glad,” Victor sighs and his eyes are glistening and his hair is falling delicately and framing his face and _he’s impossibly beautiful_. “I was really worried that you hated me.”

“Why would I hate you?” Yuuri croaks and skates over to him, worried. Victor throws his head back, eyes closed but a small smile still on his face.

“Because you were drunk.”

“You thought you took advantage,” Yuuri realises slowly. It’s a weird thought – Victor taking advantage of him when it had been Yuuri who had pined and lusted after him embarrassingly and then cornered him at some frat party and clearly done some things to him.

“Didn’t I?”

“…I never thought so,” Yuuri admits thoughtfully. “I don’t think I felt like I’d been taken advantage of. I think I wanted it.”

“So what changed?” Victor asks him patiently.

Yuuri isn’t sure. Maybe his brains just caught up with his actions. Or maybe, he thinks, nothing ever really changed at all. He just got too frightened to hold onto what he wanted.

It might not be the answer that Victor wants, but who knows.

“I just didn’t feel worthy, I guess,” he admits and realises how stupid he sounds. He tries to shake off the embarrassment by offering Victor a hand. “You’re amazing and I’m just… me.”

Victor takes his hand and lets himself be pulled up.

He doesn’t let go of Yuuri’s hand.

Yuuri flushes, feeling nervous and then – daring. He grips Victor’s hand a little harder, making Victor’s hand flinch in surprise. He doesn’t pull away though.

“What’s your theme this year?” Victor asks him, curious. Yuuri blinks – is it a strange thing to ask? Or maybe Victor doesn’t want to talk about the train wreck of their crash and burn romance anymore.

“Courage,” Yuuri answers unsurely. “Finding one’s strength in hardship and flourishing.”

“Do you think you understand it?” Victor asks him gently. “Courage?”

He hasn’t, really. Yuuri is a runner by nature. He denies his problems and distances himself from them, pretending that they don’t exist and waiting them out, hoping that one day, if he’s looked away for long enough, they won’t be there anymore. He’d fumblingly attempted to argue the theme with Celestino when he’d first brought it up. He hadn’t pushed enough to overturn the decision.

According to Celestino, Yuuri needed a little courage. His transition to seniors had been rough due to the older skaters’ overwhelming experience and skill level compared to his. He’d been down on his luck for a couple of years now, but he’d landed his first quadruple salchow this year in practice and honed down his skills with the quad toe enough to land it in practice more often than not. If he could manage to keep landing it in competition, maybe he’d place well enough in the Nationals to qualify for next year’s Grand Prix again.

It’s the one thing that’s always held him back from success. His lack of courage.

Judging by the reprehensive look on Victor’s face, he understands.

If courage can stave off that haunting look, Yuuri thinks there might be a bit of a fighter in him after all.

“Skate with me, Victor,” he requests, letting out a determined huff.

“…I love skating,” Victor replies sombrely.

Yuuri tugs at his hand, guiding him into a simple spin before starting glide backwards. He pulls Victor along with him, a nervous smile rising on his lips as a tinge of euphoria starts to take over.

He’s skating on the same ice as Victor Nikiforov – _with_ Victor Nikiforov.

It seems that some dreams do come true.

They dance, a fumbling rendition of Victor’s previous season’s free skate and joyful messing around, playing and flirting on the ice with reckless abandon.

When they stumble out of the rink hours later and drained of all energy, Yuuri feels comfortable and daring enough to take Victor out for dinner.

Something starts.

Yuuri Katsuki gets the man of his dreams.

* * *

  **1 Year Later  
**

Their relationship deepens fast. Faster than Yuuri ever expected anyway – he’s always been slow to coax into things, especially intimacy. The only outlier he’s had is Victor, which probably makes the speedy engagement oddly fitting.

It’s Yuuri who proposes too. It should be strange, yet he’s never felt more sure in his life. They have a lot to work through, synchronising their lives, but with dedication and effort from both sides, he’s sure they’ll work it all out. Victor’s eased his worries about it a long time ago. He’s different from Yuuri had expected, more patient and tender, but somehow it makes him better than his childhood’s wildest dreams.

Victor Nikiforov is a human. A glorious, awe-inspiring human, but just a human nonetheless. And, perhaps most importantly, a human who wants to share the rest of his life with Yuuri.

They’re sitting at an outdoor restaurant at a cool spring evening, announcing their engagement to their closest friends Phichit and Christophe at the brink of Easter. The holidays have given Chris enough time off for a visit. Victor has been excited to spend time with his friend again.

They show off their rings in unison sheepishly  after everyone’s ordered their meals. Phichit gasps, momentarily struck speechless. Chris raises his wine glass for them in celebration.

“Congratulations, you two. Unbelievable, for a while I thought you’d never end up marrying your soul’s match after all, Victor,” he teases good-naturedly. “Beautiful.”

“Ah, that’s an exaggeration, really,” Yuuri cuts in with a nervous laugh and waves his hands to dismiss the notion. “I mean, who knows how soulmates work, right? Maybe we’ll create a new soul bond,” he finds himself mumbling nervously. He often thinks about it, when he’s feeling particularly romantic or in sync with Victor. The beer must be making his lips loose to actually bring it up. “I know it’s silly, but sometimes I like to think that maybe we’ll become soulmates.”

Victor chokes on his beer beside him. Yuuri startles and turns to look at him to offer assistance while he struggles to breathe but Victor leans to him with a wild look and grasps his hand tightly. “What are you talking about?”

“Huh?”

“You don’t remember?”

Victor looks angry. Yuuri blushes, unsure of how he angered his fiancé. “Remember what?” he asks and tries to soothe Victor’s hand by brushing it gently with his finger to make him loosen his grip.

“Oh, this is precious,” Chris gaggles from across the table. “Yuuri, you two _are_ soulmates.”

“ _What?!_ ” Phichit freaks out, eyes widening and jaw dropping as he stares at Yuuri incredulously. “Yuuri, how come you never told me!”

“No but… No we’re not?” he panics and asks Victor whose lips are pressed to a tight line. His heart is beating so hard and fast he can hear it in his ears. “Right? I mean…”

Then he remembers that he doesn’t remember actually _meeting_ Victor. He’d been blackout drunk that night and it’s never really come back to him.

He blushes scarlet in horror.

“Don’t you feel the bond, Yuuri?” Victor asks him prissily and brings Yuuri’s hand to his own chest, fingers entwined. Yuuri’s heart soars and he tries to think about it, look back at his entire relationship with Victor and analyse it but he keeps coming up blank.

He’s never really been in love before Victor. How could he even tell what’s different?

“I don’t… I mean maybe, but, w-what about the withdrawals? Surely we would’ve –”

“Chris had to take me to the _hospital_ ,” Victor huffs. Chris winks at Yuuri, a smirk on his lips. “Surely you must’ve had some side effects from the fraying soul bond too.”

“Ah!” Phichit screeches and jumps up on his feet, pointing at Yuuri. “Oh my god. Yuuri, he’s right. You were _really_ out of it when you two met, I thought it was just your anxiety with the party chaos and all but it was _really_ bad, wasn’t it? Your meds usually help but you had to go and increase the dosage.”

“Don’t you remember?” Victor insists, looking deep into Yuuri’s eyes. “When we met?”

Oh god. _Oh god._

They’ve never _talked_ about it. Yuuri’s been so anxious about the chaotic way their relationship started he hardly ever feels comfortable discussing it and Victor’s always been silently mindful about it. He should’ve known it’d come and bite him in the end.

“I, uh,” he mumbles nervously and gulps, glancing at Phichit for support. “Um. I don’t… I mean, I had a lot to drink that night and. And. I don’t remember it. Any of it. That night.”

The anger melts away from Victor’s features. He looks stunned, staring at him with wide eyes. He drops their hands to his lap, contemplating.

Chris bursts into laughter.

“He didn’t even _know_ you were soulmates,” he gaggles at the pair. “Oh, this is precious. He proposed to you from the depths of his heart, Victor, isn’t that just precious? And to think that he first almost rejected you without even knowing –”

Yuuri’s jaw drops and his hand grips Victor’s tighter. “Oh my god,” he gasps because he almost _had_ rejected Victor. If they hadn’t stumbled into each other at the rink, would he ever had sought Victor out and apologised? Would they have ever…? And even if they would’ve, would it have been too late? “You never said anything. I almost _rejected_ you.”

“I thought you knew,” Victor answers. “You really didn’t know.”

It’s horrifying. What he almost did to Victor, did to _them_ is _horrifying_. Besides, Victor has always been very vocal about his desires regarding his soulmate. It’s kept Yuuri up at nights sometimes when he’s been feeling particularly insecure, but the way Victor had dropped talking about it had always made him think that maybe Victor just fell in love with him and let go of the idea. Most people never met their soulmates after all. It wouldn’t have been unreasonable.

They were _soulmates_. Victor was… Victor was his…

Tears well in his eyes and he brings his free hand to cover up his mouth, choking with a sudden wave of emotion. He hears Phichit’s phone shutter go off but can’t bring himself to care. Victor is looking at him tenderly, holding his hand through the realisation.

It doesn’t change anything, not really. That doesn’t mean it isn’t a lot to take in.

He pulls Victor into a hug and buries his face in his fiancé’s shoulder, bursting into happy tears. Phichit keeps applauding from across the table and Chris joins him. “Yuuri, you’re totally going to marry your soulmate! I can’t believe it!” his friend screeches excitedly. “I need to share this, this is _gold_ , we’re going to get so many likes on Instagram!”

Victor kisses the golden band around Yuuri’s finger. Yuuri lets out a choked laugh, meeting his eyes. For a moment, there’s nothing but the two of them, the steady pull at his chest like a thin thread and a calming sense of comfort and love.

If this is their soul bond, Yuuri thinks he’s alright with it. It might not be the strongest or sturdiest, might not tie them to each other irrevocably or work as a steady channel of oversharing each other’s emotions but it’s there. It’s a reminder, a small stream between them. Even if forming it hadn’t been as much of a choice as it should’ve been, maintaining it and staying by each other’s sides would be.

Yuuri finds his soulmate, but it doesn’t matter. He finds his soulmate not in a burst of colours and sensations, but in the eyes of a man he likes to think he would’ve come to love either way.

For those selfish reasons, he’s going to marry him too.


End file.
